


How to be human

by Allemande



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Adam Young Still Has Powers (Good Omens), Anathema is adorable, Back in bloody Tadfield of all places, First Time, Gabriel is a Villain, M/M, Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:57:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22478266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allemande/pseuds/Allemande
Summary: Crowley has finally figured out which language to speak in order for Aziraphale to understand his advances. Unfortunately, their first "encounter" (as Aziraphale terms it) has the major side-effect of Crowley remembering his time in Heaven. He desperately wants some time to himself to think it all through, but he gets pulled back to Tadfield by Adam who needs his help with a mystery person who has arrived...
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 98





	How to be human

**Author's Note:**

> AKA the fic where I combine two ideas into one. Oops. Enjoy ;-)

Crowley had been doing a lot of driving lately.

He'd always enjoyed it, of course, even back in the days of horse-drawn carriages, although he infinitely preferred motorized vehicles. He loved the thrill of narrow corners and the occasional bumpy road and the glaring headlights of a car coming towards him when he was doing a particularly daring overtaking manoeuvre. And he especially loved how driving served to take his mind off other things, especially now that he –

Nope. Still not ready to think about that.

He mainly kept to Greater London during his drives, the city still inexorably pulling him back every time he strayed too far. He wondered sometimes whether there was a mystic reason behind this, but he'd never bothered to investigate; he loved London too much to really care.

Which was why he was astonished to find himself, one day, much further north than he usually went.

“M40?” he asked the Bentley. “10 miles to Oxford? When did that happen?”

The Bentley didn't answer. It never did.

He must have dozed off or something, he thought. Hadn't he just passed his favourite cafe in Wembley? How had he suddenly found himself forty miles further north-west than he'd thought?

He figured he'd better go back. He had no dinner plans – hadn't made any in a fortnight – but he'd better not stray too far; certain people tended to worry too much.

And just as he'd decided to get off the motorway at the next exit, a sign announcing the next town came up, and he groaned.

Tadfield.

* * *

Adam was finding it quite hard these days to control his urges. 

It had been pretty easy at first, actually; he'd been shocked by his own behaviour, terrified that his friends might leave him and that the life he loved so much would change. Not to mention slightly traumatized by the appearance of a whole host of supernatural beings trying to tell him who he really was and what he had to do. 

So he'd just _decided_ that he was normal, that everything would go back to the way it had been, and that had been that. His friends didn't remember a thing, which was good, and his father only sometimes muttered about never wanting to pick him up in strange places again. And whenever he did want to talk about what had happened, or about things beyond the normal, he went to Anathema's place.

But things had changed ever since The Woman had arrived one week ago. Adam had been seized by such a powerful need to help her that all sorts of strange things had happened; little things, like her tea still being hot after an hour. He didn't think anybody had noticed, but he had, and it worried him.

So, all in all, he wasn't overly surprised when he found the demon waiting for him in front of his house after school.

“You brought me here, didn't you,” he growled his greeting, leaning against that car he loved so much, his arms crossed.

“Er,” Adam said.

“Are you having second thoughts about the whole ruler of the world thing?” The demon sounded more worried than his nonchalant pose would have suggested.

“No,” Adam said emphatically. “No, I don't want any of that rubbish.”

“Good,” sighed the man. (He and the angel had told Adam their names before they'd left but it had all been a bit much that day and Adam didn't remember.)

“So why am I here?”

“I... er. I didn't mean to bring you here.” Adam shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other.

“But you're not denying that you did. So what's going on?”

“Adam?” His mother in the doorway. “What's going on?”

“I asked first,” snapped the demon, not even bothering to turn his head to look at her.

“Ex _cuse_ me -” she began, sounding exactly as she did when Adam was being what she called 'a difficult pre-teen', and he knew he had to do something.

“It's all right, mum,” he called over the demon's shoulder. “He's a friend of Mr Carrow's from London. I er... I forgot that I still had some books to take back.”

“Long overdue,” the demon chimed in. “And they happen to be mine.”

“Oh. All right then,” she said, sounding dubious, as Adam ran quickly into the house and back out, carrying some books that had conveniently appeared in his room. “Never heard of a personal book pick-up before,” she muttered, but Adam knew that he'd won her over the minute he'd said the b-word, as she loved the thought of his spending more of his free time at the library.

“Shall we take these to the library then?” Adam said. “We could walk.” His mother would probably draw the line at his getting into a strange man's fancy car.

“Worst cover story ever,” commented the demon when they were out of earshot. “I mean, why wouldn't I just take them there and then?”

“I know. But she really likes Mr Carrow. The librarian,” he explained.

“Can't believe I've been cast as the librarian's friend,” the demon scoffed.

“Suits you, doesn't it?” Adam dared. He had a dim memory of a vision he'd had, the angel in a bookshop which seemed almost a part of him, and then the bookshop in flames, which wasn't right, so he'd put it right again.

“Whatever. So. What am I doing back in bloody Tadfield?”

* * *

Aziraphale was worried.

It wasn't as though this was a new state of being for him. He'd spent most of the last 6,000 years being worried about _something_. He'd often managed to distract himself (too often with worldly pleasures, the shamefulness of which he'd then had to distract himself from with liberally bestowed miracles and bibles), but had mostly, unerringly, found his way back to a general state of worry.

He'd rather hoped it would stop once the world hadn't ended.

And it kind of had, for a while. He'd been content, very content. Even (extremely cautiously) happy.

But then Crowley, who could never get enough, had had to go and do _that_. And now here they were.

Sometimes, on clear nights, Aziraphale found himself looking up at the stars and admitting to himself that it hadn't just been Crowley's doing. They'd both been steering towards _that_ for a long time. But neither of them had expected what their first... well... encounter? Yes. What their first encounter would entail. Aziraphale had definitely not thought that it would entail having to give Crowley the space he needed and simultaneously keeping tabs on him just so he could be sure that the demon wouldn't do anything stupid.

And the worst thing? The worst thing (he would admit to himself on rainy nights) was that in his heart of hearts, he couldn't bring himself to regret what had happened. Yes, he had felt, and understood, Crowley's distress. But everything leading up to _that_ particular moment had been... well. Easily the best thing Aziraphale had experienced in 6,000 years. 

And he was still hoping that all Crowley needed was some time, and that he would come to see things the same way once he had adapted.

 _Help him_ , Aziraphale found himself praying. _Help him find out who he is now. And bring him back to me. Forgive me for being selfish. But I need him, Lord. He is everything to me now._

God hadn't replied to his prayers in a long time, and She didn't reply now.

* * *

“Hey Pepper,” said Adam to a girl wearing a denim trouser suit and a miserable expression, sitting on the bench in front of another of those nondescript Tadfield houses. God, Crowley hated country towns.

“Hey Adam,” she said, her gloom lifting somewhat. “Who's that?”

Ah yes, the refreshingly impolite, no-nonsense friend who had helped stop the apocalypse. Crowley remembered her now.

“Family friend,” Adam lied easily. “He speaks loads of languages.”

“Oh!” Pepper said. “Well maybe you can get through to her then. It's not French, or Spanish, or Italian, I tried all of those, and I don't think it's Greek, although maybe you wouldn't reply anyway if you were Greek and I asked you 'Do you have any vegetarian food?' I think it may be something Middle Eastern, although she doesn't look Middle Eastern. But maybe she grew up there or something. I mean, there are definitely a lot of cultural differences. She doesn't even give you a nod of thanks when you hand her a cup of tea or something. Anyway, I tried a few phrase books. But mostly she just sits there staring at me.” She threw up her hands and looked at Crowley expectantly, as though her speech had made perfect sense.

“Adam,” Crowley said. It was a question, and a warning that his patience was wearing thin.

“I think we'll just go in, if that's okay,” said Adam to Pepper, who shrugged.

“Mum and Dad are out, so I am here taking care of Her. Not that She needs anything. She won't even eat.”

It almost sounded as though she was capitalizing the pronouns, Crowley thought, and was abruptly reminded of – well. There was no need to dwell on that now.

“So I told you that someone new had arrived in town,” Adam said as they were inside. (Pepper had darted upstairs to get her favourite book and rushed back outside, muttering about 'a little time to myself without having to think of her all alone up there'.) “This was about a week ago. Pepper's neighbours said they found her in the field behind their house. The husband swears she fell from the sky, but the wife says he's starting to get a little funny up there, so who knows. And Pepper's mum took her in because she's really nice, and the neighbours are old and can't take care of her. Except nobody knows who she is, and she won't talk.”

Crowley tried to absorb all of this. Adam's account of things was (small mercies) at least a little more coherent.

“And you brought me here because...?”

Adam looked embarrassed. “Well... it wasn't a conscious decision, but I guess some part of me thought you could help?”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “It doesn't even sound particularly supernatural, you know.”

“Yeah, I know, but...”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Hold on. Does it _feel_ supernatural?”

Adam crossed and uncrossed his arms awkwardly. “Yes and no?”

“Do elaborate,” Crowley said acidly as he helped himself to a beer from the fridge.

“She doesn't feel like you. She feels... normal. Human, I guess.”

“But?”

“But at the same time it's like she _shouldn't_ feel like that. Like she's all wrong.”

Crowley nodded slowly, sipping his beer. That he could work with. “Okay. Show me.”

* * *

Aziraphale was browsing the web – something he didn't particularly enjoy but which was necessary these days when one was looking for presents to cheer someone up who had very particular tastes, like, say, vintage accessories for a vintage car – when he felt a very particular tingle at the back of his neck.

A moment later, the door to his shop opened, and a nervous-looking woman ducked in. Well. Not so much woman as woman-shaped, thought Aziraphale as she approached him.

“How may I help you?” he said in a tone that would have frozen the polar caps all over.

“I've come to deliver a message,” the other angel said. It was obvious that she was trying to sound bold and haughty.

“From?” Aziraphale asked. He was still seated at his desk, hoping it would look like dangerous impertinence (and not like the anxiety he was feeling).

“The Archangel Gabriel,” she said, drawing herself up somewhat.

“I don't see what business he could possibly have sending me a message,” said Aziraphale, ignoring the part of him that was scandalized at his brazenness, desperately trying to cling to the thought _What would Crowley say, What would Crowley say, Stay cool_. “If he has something to say to me, why doesn't he come himself?”

She stared at him for a moment, then obviously decided not to reply to his provocation and drew herself up even further. On another plane not quite inside this reality, she was hovering a few inches above the floor. “The Archangel Gabriel sends me to tell you that a change is coming and you are advised to choose your allies wisely.”

 _Stay cool, Stay cool._ “I've never known the Archangel Gabriel to be so cryptic,” Aziraphale commented tartly. “Whatever that means, you can tell him I am not one of yours anymore. And trust me, you don't want me to be.”

He stood up, then, and walked around the desk, and he was pleased to see that on that other plane, Gabriel's messenger's wings were trembling ever so slightly. “I'll see you to the door, shall I?” he said brightly, advancing just a little too quickly, and he saw panic in her eyes.

“No need,” the angel said, and fled.

“What the _fuck_ ”, Aziraphale said to himself, sitting down heavily.

* * *

They walked up a flight of stairs towards what Crowley surmised was the guest bedroom. It was eerily quiet in the house, as though no one were staying there at all. Adam pointed at the door and nodded.

“I'll announce you,” he said, as though the family guest were royalty, and Crowley drew up a mental image of a fussy foreign aristocrat wrapped in fur, staring haughtily at all the commoners come to wait on her.

Adam knocked and opened the door a fraction, sticking his head around it, with Crowley still behind the door and unable to see inside.

“Hello,” Adam said. “It's Adam again. I've brought someone who might be able to help. I er... I'll leave you to it.” Coming back outside and almost closing the door again, he whispered, “She's sitting exactly as she was the last time I came over. I'm telling you, it looks as though she doesn't even know what to do with her body.”

“All right, fine,” Crowley said impatiently, and shooed Adam aside. “I'll talk to her, but I can't promise anything. Meet you back at yours?”

“Okay,” Adam said, sounding relieved, and jogged back down the stairs.

Crowley opened the door.

A woman was sitting by the window, looking out. Her long hair was obscuring the part of her face that wasn't turned away from him. She was wearing a long robe the colour of a bright summer sky, and her hair was neither blonde nor silver, it was –

– it was the precise colour of moonlight.

She turned her head to look at him. 

Crowley stumbled backwards, hitting his head on the door, fumbled blindly for the door handle and ran, ran as fast as his legs would carry him, downstairs, out of the house, and as far away as he could.

* * *

Aziraphale put down the phone. No reply on either Crowley's landline or mobile. Did that mean he ought to worry (more)? Or was Crowley simply making good use of his angel-free time and didn't want to be disturbed?

Pacing up and down the back room of his bookshop, he debated the pros and cons of searching for the demon via mystic means. It wasn't as though he was worried that it would draw too much attention from Upstairs; that message from Gabriel did worry him, which was why he wanted to talk to Crowley, but he'd realized a while ago that They couldn't actually tell the difference between his miracles and Crowley's and that doing more of them was probably bound to increase his notoriety Upstairs (and therefore his freedom from them).

No, he was worried that if he searched for Crowley in that way, the demon would resent him for it, feel cramped when he had so explicitly stated that he needed some time alone.

Funny how one's wishes could change at the drop of a hat, the angel thought, staring at the sofa in the corner.

* * *

_Two weeks ago_

“You like doing things the human way,” Crowley said, and it sounded like a revelation.

Aziraphale frowned, his fork frozen in the middle of its trajectory to his mouth.

“Bit obvious by now, isn't it?”

“Yes,” Crowley agreed, slightly breathlessly. “I suppose it just never occurred to me how true it was.”

Aziraphale hadn't thought much about this exchange until, a couple of days later, Crowley had suddenly turned up at his doorstep with flowers and taken him to a fancy restaurant.

“Had a good evening?” he asked as he accompanied him back (on foot!) to his shop.

“I always do, with you,” Aziraphale replied, wondering since when Crowley felt the need to ask. “Well. Perhaps with one or two notable exceptions.”

“Name one,” Crowley grinned.

“Tokyo, 1983, Yamamoto Sakura's karaoke party,” Aziraphale said at once.

Crowley threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, what a party. One would think an angel of the Lord could hold a tune.”

“I can, when it's proper music,” Aziraphale insisted, thinking that repeating an age-old discussion shouldn't be so much fun. “Give me a Bach arioso, I'll give you angelic chanting.”

“Here we are,” said Crowley, stopping in front of the bookshop, and his voice had that odd breathless quality of the other day.

Aziraphale turned to him, opened his mouth to extend the customary invitation for a nightcap, and stopped. Crowley was standing much closer than he usually did, and he was fixing Aziraphale with what the angel assumed was, behind the sunglasses, an intense gaze.

“What's the matter?” Aziraphale asked quietly.

Crowley kissed him.

Aziraphale was too shocked to do anything but stand there and let himself be kissed, and just when he had regained some control of his senses, Crowley drew back.

“What... um.” Aziraphale cleared his throat. He wasn't quite sure what to do with his hands. “What are you doing?”

“It's what humans do,” said Crowley, a slight smile playing around his lips. He didn't look nervous at all, Aziraphale thought, but then he never did.

“Correct me if I'm wrong, but it's what humans do when there's a romantic attachment,” he said.

Crowley rolled his eyes, visible just above the rim of his sunglasses. “'Duh', as the Americans put it.”

“You know I don't understand Americans half of the time,” Aziraphale complained.

Crowley sighed. It looked like it was taking all of his powers to remain patient. Come to think of it, he often looked like this around Aziraphale.

“Fine. 'Well, exactly,'” he said, drawing quotation marks in the air with his fingers.

Aziraphale stared at him. It was too unbelievable by half. “But... you never showed any signs before.”

Crowley shook his head. “I did, angel. I did. But apparently not in a language that you understand. So I thought... the human way. You know?”

“I see,” Aziraphale managed, trying to think very fast.

“You want me to demonstrate again?”

“If you'd be so kind.”

Crowley kissed him again.

It was just as heady as the first time, with perhaps more undertones of want as Aziraphale permitted himself to open his lips ever so slightly and Crowley's tongue licked a slow, lazy path along his lower lip.

“Is it becoming a little clearer to you?” Crowley muttered against his mouth.

“A little,” Aziraphale said. His hands knew what to do now. There were gripping Crowley's forearms.

“So what now?” Crowley asked, then moved the hand that was resting on Aziraphale's cheek to cup the back of his neck and draw him back in.

“Er,” Aziraphale said as they broke apart again. He couldn't stop staring at Crowley's lips. “What do humans do in this situation?”

“Well, there are several possibilities,” Crowley smiled. “To name two of them, you could say goodnight now and suggest that we do this again soon; or you could invite me in.”

“Inviting you in is what I usually do,” Aziraphale said.

“Yes, except that in this case I might understand it to mean a little more than just drinking myself into a stupor in your back room.” Crowley frowned. “Um. Not that I'm saying I don't enjoy drinks in the back room. I don't think we would be who we are without drinks in the back room.”

“Quite,” Aziraphale said. He was oddly heartened by the sudden uncertainty in Crowley's tone. If he was nervous, then it was all right for Aziraphale to be, too.

He drew back ever so slightly, although he was still holding on to Crowley's arms. “Well then, my dear. Would you care to join me for drinks in the back room, which may degenerate into something else as the evening progresses?”

Crowley laughed in delight. “I've got to say, angel, I expected more resistance. But you're taking to this like a fish to water.”

“As you said, you're finally speaking my language,” Aziraphale smiled and pulled him inside.

* * *

_Present day_

Crowley hadn't actually run as far as he could.

That would probably be quite far. He'd never tried testing the limits of his human-shaped body, but he figured he could probably make it go for quite a while if he wanted to. But he had mostly been too lazy to ever try it out.

Now that the first shock had worn off, which was a little ways outside the town, the sensation that pervaded him was... curiosity.

With possibly a dash of fear. But curiosity was, and always had been, foremost.

So he took a leisurely walk back into Tadfield, suddenly finding that he could finally allow himself to dwell on the events of the week before last without shying away from them.

* * *

_Two weeks ago_

“Oh... yes... just there,” Aziraphale sighed.

“Between your clavicles,” Crowley said disbelievingly, and kissed him there again.

“Apparently,” Aziraphale said, and moved forward to give Crowley better access.

“What, no one's ever kissed you here before?” Crowley murmured, and licked just there. He was pleased to feel Aziraphale shuddering ever so slightly in his arms.

“I don't know what gave you the idea that I ever...” Aziraphale said, and then moaned as Crowley licked again.

“Oh come off it, angel. You have so done this before.”

Aziraphale was sitting astride his lap, where he had climbed without any apparent hesitation or compunction, and his hands were under Crowley's shirt.

“Well, maybe once or twice,” the angel conceded, and Crowley laughed.

“You like doing things the human way,” Crowley repeated.

Aziraphale, humming in agreement, divested Crowley of his shirt and ran two reverent hands along his torso. “I suppose it never occurred to me that you would, too,” he admitted, and gave each of Crowley's nipples a little kiss.

“Not if I'm going to be teased like that, no,” Crowley growled, and Aziraphale laughed and returned to his nipples with more abandon, more lips and more teeth.

* * *

_Present day_

It had been everything he'd ever wished for, Crowley thought as he reentered Tadfield. Everything... and more. 

Unfortunately, the 'more' bit was what had completely thrown him, what he hadn't expected. He should have done, really; sex with humans had been well and good, but there was no metaphysical level, nothing beyond the corporeal, and he should have expected that sex with an angel – especially _his_ angel – would be different.

His mobile rang. It was Aziraphale, and now that he looked at the screen, he saw that he had two missed calls from him; it must have been earlier, while he had been running, not seeing or hearing anything in his path.

“Hello, angel.”

“Crowley! Are you all right?”

“I'm fine. You?”

“I called you earlier.”

“Yeah, I just saw. I was busy.”

“I see. And you're okay?” Aziraphale sounded extremely cautious, which Crowley was finding a little hard to bear. He knew he should be grateful. He himself had asked for breathing space. But he couldn't help feeling annoyed at being treated like a breakable.

“I'm fine, angel. Listen, I'll call you back, all right? I'm in the middle of something here.” The middle of town, to be precise, and Adam's friend's house was coming up soon if he remembered correctly.

And there was no way he was telling Aziraphale about what he thought he'd seen in there. Not yet.

“All right.” Sounding dejected now, and that was really not acceptable.

“I –” No. Perhaps a little early for that particular phrase to be uttered, even if they were doing things like humans. “I'll call you tonight. Before sunset. I promise.”

“Take care, dear.”

“You too, angel.”

His call ended, he found that he'd arrived in front of the house. The girl wasn't sitting outside anymore. He hoped that didn't mean that –

“Can I help you?” A woman in the open kitchen window, same hair, same nose – the girl's mother.

“Ah,” Crowley said. If only he could remember the girl's name. Well. Best stick with Adam's ridiculous second cover story. Although he had to admit the kid was a good spontaneous liar.

“Anthony Crowley,” he said, tuning into full charming-tempter mode. “I came by earlier when your daughter was here. I'm a friend of Adam's. I was passing through the town and he told me about someone staying at your house who speaks another language? The thing is, I'm a professor of linguistics,” Oh, now you're really pushing your luck, he told himself as she looked him up and down sceptically, “And I suppose Adam thought I might be able to help.” He flashed a winning smile at her. “And I've got to admit I'm always curious to meet people who speak out-of-the-way languages. I only speak thirteen, but...”

“Thirteen!” she exclaimed. “Hold on.” She disappeared briefly, then reappeared through the door. “Well, I suppose it can't hurt if you try. God knows we've tried everything to try to communicate with her. But she won't even give us a hint. I brought her a map of the world the other day and asked her to pinpoint where she was from, and she just stared at it like she'd never seen one before.”

The woman drew breath, and Crowley thought he knew where her daughter had got her loquaciousness. “Right,” he interjected quickly. “Well, maybe she didn't understand the question. Mind if I –?” he jerked his head towards the house.

“Be my guest,” the woman shrugged, and just like Adam earlier, she led him towards the guest room. Crowley thought it was probably best not to mention that he'd been up here before, so he followed, meekly, unassumingly, and waited as he was once again announced.

Unfortunately, the girl's mother seemed to want to stick around.

“If you don't mind...” Crowley said, injecting just the right mixture of hesitation and suggestion into his voice. “I think it might work better if I'm alone.”

“All right, if you think so,” the woman said, sounding disappointed.

And he was once again alone, standing just behind the door that was a little ajar, behind which sat – 

He closed his eyes and reached out with his power.

Nothing.

It couldn't be, then, right?

He opened the door.

She was still sitting by the window, but this time she was looking at him as he came in. Her eyes were the same colour as her clothes, a blue so bright it was almost impossible.

Crowley swallowed and entered the room. For a long while, they just looked at each other. 

It _was_ her. It had to be. There was no other being in existence who had ever looked at him like that.

He took a deep breath because he had seen how it calmed humans.

“What are you doing here?”

It was just like the others had said; she stared uncomprehendingly. Crowley had assumed she just couldn't be bothered to talk to humans. But what if she really didn't understand? (How was that possible?)

He took a chair and sat opposite her.

“Can you understand me?” he tried.

A tiny hint of a frown graced her forehead, but she didn't reply.

He tried a whole host of languages. He even tried Latin, Egyptian, and Sanskrit. Nothing. She just continued staring at him with those impossible eyes. She didn't even shake her head to signal that she didn't understand – but then she wouldn't have that reflex, would she?

Finally, Crowley closed his eyes and sent a question right into her – human! How could it be human? – mind. 

_Can you give me a hint of how to communicate with you?_ – It wasn't exactly that phrase, of course, as he was not using a human language, per se; he was sending her the question via the medium of emotions, images.

She blinked, and then she finally, finally opened her mouth.

“The only tongue I remember is this one,” she said.

If Crowley had still had any doubt that it was her, it evaporated when he heard her voice again after so many millennia.

* * *

Aziraphale stared at his phone. He was dimly aware of having stared at it for a while.

Something was wrong. Crowley had been more than distant, he'd been preoccupied. It couldn't still be the effects of what had happened between them, could it? But he'd talked to him since then. Those other times, Crowley had sounded tired and pensive, but not like this, not like... he was keeping something from him. 

Something enormous.

Aziraphale sighed and went to make himself a cup of tea. He'd wait until this evening, and if Crowley didn't call him like he had promised, he would... well. He would think of something.

Speaking of thinking of something, he really could not stop reliving that night.

* * *

_Two weeks ago_

“Angel,” Crowley groaned as Aziraphale, having dragged him upstairs to his rarely-used bed, backed the demon against it, and pushed.

“You're going to be the death of me,” said Crowley, looking up out of eyes wide with want. “Or at the very least the discorporation.”

“I hope not,” said Aziraphale as he crawled up the whole beautiful length of Crowley's body. They were both mostly naked now except for their underwear and, in the angel's case, an undershirt. “I happen to like this body.” And he trailed wet kisses down Crowley's torso to demonstrate how much.

Crowley growled, pulled off Aziraphale's undershirt and pulled him down so that they were lying flush against each other, and then he somehow managed to turn them without either of them falling off the narrow bed.

“What shall I do with you,” he purred, sitting on top of Aziraphale and stroking lazy hands down the angel's torso, and Aziraphale allowed himself a moment of utter enjoyment of being tempted, being seduced by the ultimate seducer.

Except that wasn't really how they worked.

“You could start out by sucking me off,” he said, and his deceptively light tone of voice had a note of steel in it that he knew Crowley would pick up on.

The look of surprise on Crowley's face was quickly replaced by merriment. “Oh, angel,” he chuckled. “Is this my doing, or have you always been this bad?”

“I don't see what's so bad about... oh, _yes_ ,” Aziraphale sighed as Crowley did as he was told.

Aziraphale had last manifested this particular bit of anatomy a while back; it was usually a bit of a hindrance in daily life, so he tended to do without it, but when Crowley had kissed him outside the shop, he had spontaneously, unthinkingly, returned to that configuration. And he couldn't have said that he regretted it now, as Crowley licked a slow trail up and around his cock and finally, with a moan, engulfed him in his hot mouth.

Aziraphale arched upwards without thinking, and Crowley pinned him down by his hips. The demon worked up a fast rhythm very soon, and Aziraphale sighed, and moaned, and fisted his hands into the sheets, and thought hazily that this was all going to be over far too soon.

Gently, but insistently, he pushed Crowley away, turned them around again and kissed the demon soundly.

“I was only getting started,” Crowley protested when he drew back.

“I know, dear,” Aziraphale said, stroking his hair. “The thing is... I get wanting to bring things to a quick close when it's with a human. And then maybe relaxing and doing it again later. But this is the two of us.” He gave a little frown and a smile then, and Crowley mirrored it: By all that was holy-and-or-damned, this was the two of them, here they were, naked together in bed. “We're not bound by their laws, are we? We can take a little more time to explore.”

And so explore they did. 

Two hours passed until they were both, finally, definitely, headed towards climax. Aziraphale could tell by the way the whole room was charged with electricity. They were barely on this plane of reality, by now; they were floating a foot above the bed, their wings lazily beating in sync, their arms and legs intertwined. Aziraphale was slowly thrusting in and out of Crowley, while Crowley's head was bent back, exposing his beautiful long neck that Aziraphale could not help kissing every time his thrusts brought him closer. They had lost the need to speak some time ago, although Crowley cried out every now and then at a particularly deep thrust, and Aziraphale moaned into his neck in reply. They were communicating on another level, their souls so close together now, Aziraphale seeing more clearly than ever into Crowley's very being, walking down alleyways that were so well known to him. Some were not, but he was sure he would know them all at some point in their existence. Suddenly, in his mind's or perhaps their shared minds' eye, he came up against a huge, bright blue door that was bolted shut, and he would have turned away out of respect had he not felt as though Crowley were standing there with him, examining it curiously and tugging on it with him, and as they both pulled with all their combined might –

Crowley shouted out his climax and Aziraphale followed a moment after, and as they fell out of the air, the bed gave an ominous crack and the lightbulb in the corner exploded.

For a long moment, there was complete silence.

“Dearest?” Aziraphale asked timidly. He was covered in boneless Crowley: arms, torso, legs, feathers and all. He wasn't sheathed inside the demon anymore, but other than that, it felt like they were joined limb to limb. It wasn't as though Aziraphale found the sensation unpleasant; but he was starting to get worried at Crowley's silence.

Finally, Crowley stirred and moved off him, but he didn't look at Aziraphale as he scooted towards the other end of the bed and turned his back to him.

Oh dear. This wasn't good.

“Darling,” he tried again.

“Please,” Crowley whispered, his back turned to him. “I need a moment.”

Aziraphale wasn't inside Crowley's mind anymore, but it was as though he could feel the cogs turning inside anyway. He forced himself to stay out of it, though, and stared at the ceiling. What they had just seen – it was no wonder Crowley needed a moment to process it. Was this the first time Crowley had seen it since – ?

“I need a drink,” muttered his companion eventually, and got up and dressed himself. He didn't once look at Aziraphale before he strode out of the room.

* * *

_Present day_

It was one of the oldest human languages, and Crowley couldn't remember what it had been called, but it didn't matter because he understood her.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, when he should have asked _Why are you human Is this a test What am I doing here?_

She blinked.

“I fell,” she said.

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing a hand over his forehead.

“What are you talking about?” He croaked. “You don't fall.”

She didn't reply. She was busy studying her hands, turning them this way and that and examing every inch of them as closely as though she had never seen them before.

“You were inside my head,” she said finally. “I am human. Yes?”

Crowley swallowed again. “From what I could see, yes.”

“Make absolutely sure.”

Well, he certainly hadn't missed that commanding tone.

He closed his eyes and concentrated, reaching out with his power. There she was. It was nothing like he had expected her to be, inside. But how would he know? He had never been inside her mind before. How could he have been? At any rate, she was human, as human as they came. Except, like Adam had said, it felt wrong.

“You're human,” he confirmed. “How?”

Again, she didn't reply. “And you know me?”

A flash of that night in (and above) Aziraphale's bed. Crowley winced.

“I know you.” He narrowed his eyes. “Hold on. Are you saying you don't remember me at all?”

There was a knock on the door.

“Thought you two might want a cup of tea,” said Mrs – Huh. Crowley should probably have asked her name, he thought dimly, but then perhaps he was supposed to know it. “I heard talking! So you've found her language? Where is she from then?” She looked back and forth between the two of them, all excitement, and Crowley was seized with a strong urge to throw her out of her own house. Instead, he forced himself to smile and accept the tea.

“They keep giving me this flavoured water,” said the woman in the chair, and Crowley felt something bubbling up deep inside of him. He thought, dazed, that it might very well be the beginnings of a belly-aching laugh.

“It's called tea,” he said. “They love it, especially in this part of the world.”

“Why is she kind to me?”

Crowley frowned. No, he mused, kindness would not be something she would truly understand. She understood Love – but that wasn't anywhere close to kindness at all, come to think of it.

“Because you're alone, and helpless, and you've awakened her mother instinct,” he said. The woman continued staring at him in a puzzled manner.

“Because kindness is something that humans have chosen to make a part of their interactions in order to survive in big groups,” he tried again.

That one seemed to make a little more sense to her. How fucking typical.

Mrs So-and-So, still standing in the doorway, cleared her throat. “So what's her name?”

Crowley, feeling that laugh bubble up in him again, translated the question.

“What should I tell her?” she asked, and Crowley realized in amazement that she was asking him for help. Well, that was a first.

“It's a little hard to pronounce,” he lied in reply to Mrs So-and-So's question, not taking his eyes off the woman's blue robe and matching eyes. “But it translates as 'Sky', I guess.”

“Sky,” Mrs So-and-So accepted happily. “That's lovely. And where is she from?”

“It's complicated,” Crowley said. Let her think there was an international espionage background, he didn't care. “Look, I think we're going to go for a walk.”

And so he took the sky-blue, moonlight-silver woman downstairs and walked with her through the streets of Tadfield.

* * *

Crowley hadn't called him back before sunset as he'd promised, so Aziraphale had for once ignored his guilty conscience, reached out with his power and located him in –

Tadfield, of all places, he thought as he sat on the next train out. (He didn't quite trust himself, in this advanced state of worry, to miracle himself there.) Something big was going on. Had Adam shown signs of power again? Or was it nothing untoward, had Crowley perhaps befriended that lovely witchy woman – what was her name again? – and was making a social call?

It didn't help his nerves at all that once he'd arrived an hour later and started walking towards the town centre, where he could still sense Crowley's presence, a peacock started following him.

“Shoo,” he said when it had started stalking a little too close for comfort.

“Shoo yourself,” said the peacock.

Aziraphale stopped short. The peacock hopped onto a bench quite near him, staring at him insolently.

The angel sighed inwardly. Another message from Gabriel, then. And he had better slip back into his haughty, arrogant persona quickly lest Gabriel's messengers start suspecting that he was not, in fact, part demon now.

“What does he want now?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“To tell you that you'd better choose your side quickly, _or_ ,” the peacock said.

“Same message as before then,” Aziraphale said, rolling his eyes for effect. He was glad his shaking hands were hidden by his crossed arms. “Bit unoriginal, isn't it?”

There were a few people around, but none of them appeared to notice this odd exchange.

“Still true though,” the peacock shrugged, although birds didn't really shrug, so it was more a matter of hopping off the bench for a second and back on again. Yes, Aziraphale thought. Concentrate on how ridiculous this is. That'll get you through it.

“I told you,” he said, trying his best to sound bored. “I'm on my own side now. You'll get nowhere trying to recruit me again.” 

“But you haven't seen what he's done to the place,” said the peacock, lifting his head skyward. “It's magnificent up there now.”

Unless Aziraphale was mistaken, they had now switched from threatening to pleading, which was a good sign.

“I don't care if he's redecorated the entire place with original Louis XIV furniture,” he hissed. Yes. Best to put a dash more of Crowley in it, now. “I'm not interested. And you had better leave this bird's body now before I pluck out all its feathers and adorn my wings with them.”

Another moment of silence in which they stared each other down, and then the bird flew off. 

Aziraphale heaved a great sigh of relief. Right. Now to find Crowley. He concentrated again, and could feel the path opening up to him in his mind's eye. He could smell just a hint of beer and stale sweat –

The village pub, he thought as he came to a halt in front of it. Crowley had better have a very good explanation for this.

* * *

Crowley had been so absorbed in his conversation that he only noticed Aziraphale's presence when it was too late.

“Shit,” he muttered, squeezing himself out of the narrow booth the moment he spotted those familiar blond curls by the door. “I'll be right back.” Advancing quickly towards the angel, who had spotted him almost at exactly the same moment, he tried to block his drinking companion from sight, and when he realized his corporation was just not wide enough to do that, miracled a distraction – three people bumping messily into each other on their way to the bar – that obscured her from view.

“Aziraphale,” he said, trying for fake cheer.

“Crowley,” the angel said, looking suspiciously at the commotion behind his friend. Of course he would notice, thought Crowley desperately. “What's going on?”

“I'm sorry I didn't call you back,” Crowley said. “It's been one hell of a day.” And then he had to laugh a bit at his own phrasing.

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose. “Are you drunk?”

“No more than the situation warrants,” Crowley giggled. “Listen – angel – there's something I need to tell you before –”

But the angel's eyes had gone wide as saucers as he looked over his shoulder.

Of course she hadn't bloody well waited for them to come back.

“Aziraphale,” she said, standing next to Crowley, and her voice was suddenly as warm as honeyed milk. Crowley glanced at her. She was smiling, the first time he'd seen her smile since this afternoon.

Aziraphale looked torn between fainting and falling to his knees before her. Well, they couldn't have that, Crowley thought, and steered them both back to their booth. She sat down across from them, still smiling.

“I...” Aziraphale cleared his throat and leaned a little into Crowley for support. “I don't understand.”

“It's her,” Crowley confirmed.

“But I can't sense her.”

“And she can't understand you,” Crowley supplied, switching to the language he'd been using to communicate with her.

“I am pleased to see you, Aziraphale,” she said. It was not a phrase of politeness, because she didn't do that. She was obviously genuinely pleased.

“I am...” he croaked. “I...” He tried again. “Likewise. Obviously. I'm sorry, but why are we speaking Aramaic?”

“Aramaic!” said Crowley, slapping his hand flat on the table. “Couldn't remember the blasted name.”

“Is this a test?” Aziraphale asked weakly.

“It's the only tongue she remembers,” Crowley explained, perfectly aware that this didn't explain a thing.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, a question and a plea.

“She's human,” he said, and he settled a hand on Aziraphale's knee below the table to steady the angel. (And possibly himself.) “I don't know why. She's not been entirely forthcoming about what happened. But then she never was. Maybe you'll have more luck.”

Her eyes swiveled towards him, and the smile that was still on her face turned a trifle sharp. “I do remember you now,” she said. “You're the one who wouldn't stop asking questions.”

“That's me,” Crowley said, holding her gaze as she stared him down, and yes, he remembered now doing just that, all those millennia ago. “Sorry to say I haven't mellowed at all.”

Aziraphale's hand covered his own beneath the table.

“Will you permit me to ask you a question, my Lord?” he said.

“See, now that is the proper form of address,” she commented, and for some reason Crowley was pleased to see her mimicking his raised eyebrow.

Aziraphale was still trembling slightly beside him, but Crowley could feel that their physical contact – and the low-level metaphysical connection that was present whenever they were near each other – was steadying both of them.

“Have you made yourself human? Is this a test of your capabilities?” the angel asked.

“This is not of my doing,” said God, downed Her beer in one, and then appeared to surprise Herself by how forcefully She set down the glass again.

“You want to be careful,” Crowley advised. “The alcohol in that drink is bound to leave your human body even less coordinated and clear-headed than it is already.”

“Your advice has been noted,” She said tartly.

* * *

“Fucking hell,” Aziraphale said quietly as he collapsed on the sofa. Crowley had managed to obtain a last minute bed and breakfast for them.

“Fucking heaven, if you ask me.”

“Cheap.”

“Handed it to me on a silver platter.”

Aziraphale laughed, and some of the tension between them dissipated. “Come here.”

Without hesitation, Crowley sat with him, burying his face in the crook of Aziraphale's neck, slinging his legs over Aziraphale's lap, and he could feel the angel's wings encircling him. He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't.

“Are you all right?” Aziraphale asked, very gently.

Bugger. He would cry.

His angel made all the appropriate shushing noises and stroked his back. “This must have been a terrible ordeal for you, my dear boy,” he said, and his voice sounded a bit thick too.

“You're talking as though it's over,” Crowley said into his neck. “I haven't figured out what to do with her.”

“No, but I'm here now.”

Crowley lifted his head and looked into the brilliantly blue eyes – not of the being who had made him, but the one who had helped shape him into who he was today. “Yes. You are.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I'm sorry I didn't call you right away.”

“It's all right.”

“The eternally undeserved angelic absolution.” Crowley sighed. “I don't think I was thinking clearly. I was driving, you see, to take my mind off of. Well. All of it, and all of a sudden I end up here. Adam's doing, as it turns out. And then I saw her, and...” He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, willing himself to not cry again.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale gently removed his hands and covered them with his own. “You only just remembered the other day. If what I sensed is true, all the memories of your time in heaven, and of Her, came rushing back to you in a matter of seconds. Of course you were overwhelmed seeing Her.”

“Stop making excuses for me,” Crowley muttered.

“Stop beating yourself up about things that aren't your fault,” Aziraphale shot back.

Crowley smiled.

“Adam brought you here?”

Crowley nodded. “He met her and thought she didn't feel right, and his subconscious made him get me here.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Quite apart from the current situation, that is more than a little unnerving.”

“Oh.” Crowley sighed again, and got up to make them some coffee. “Yeah. I guess you're right. We should keep tabs on him in the future.”

“First things first, though,” Aziraphale said, joining him in the little kitchenette. There was a cooker, a fridge, a kettle and a table for two. Under other circumstances, it would have been rather cosy.

“Gabriel,” Crowley said. “Bloody hell. I knew he had it in him to be cruel and arrogant, but this...”

“Styling himself the new God.” Aziraphale shook his head. “What will She do to him when She gets back?”

“ _If_ she gets back.”

Aziraphale shot him a quick look of surprise. Then he frowned. “Yes. I suppose you're right. _If_ She gets back.”

Crowley handed the angel his coffee and they sat down at the table. They were quiet for a long time.

“What do you suppose She's doing now?” Aziraphale asked.

“Sleeping,” Crowley shrugged. “She was shattered when we dropped her off at that girl's place. She's human, remember.”

“She's human,” Aziraphale echoed, and shook his head.

Crowley had been right: She had been far more forthcoming with Aziraphale than with him, relating (with some hesitation that in humans would have been called embarrassment) that Gabriel had somehow managed to trick Her into abandoning Her powers. She had made the mistake of telling him that it would be good to find out what it was like to live as a human for a day. And Gabriel, whom She had still trusted implicitly, had helped Her store Her power... somewhere. Now that She was human, She was unclear on the details.

“It's got to be somewhere mystic that's beyond human comprehension,” Crowley murmured.

“Hm?”

“The receptacle. Where her powers are stored. They must have done it together and now she can't remember because her mind isn't big enough to comprehend it.”

“Ye-es,” said Aziraphale slowly. “That makes sense. Well done.”

“Got some experience with mystic rituals, me,” Crowley shrugged, opting for an extremely nonchalant tone, and Aziraphale smiled.

“Good. Could come in handy.” He sighed. “A change is coming. Well, that makes sense too, now.”

“What?”

“I had a message from Gabriel. Well, two, actually.”

Crowley's head shot up. “You're telling me this now?”

“I'm sorry, dear. It's been one hell of a day.”

Crowley laughed.

“Also, I did call you earlier and you practically hung up on me.”

“True.” Crowley winced. “Sorry. Again.”

“It's all right,” Aziraphale said softly and covered Crowley's hand in his. Crowley, turning his own hand around, started stroking the back of Aziraphale's hand with his thumb. It was funny how these incredibly human gestures seemed to mean so much to him, these days.

“So. You had two messages from Gabriel. Today?”

“Yes. An angel visited the bookshop this morning. And when I arrived in Tadfield this evening...” Aziraphale started to laugh. “You're going to love this, actually. A peacock.”

“A _peacock_ ,” Crowley echoed. “Very Gabriel.”

“Exactly.”

“And, what? They warned you not to meddle?”

“No, actually. They told me that 'a change was coming' and to 'choose my side wisely', but unless I'm very much mistaken, what they were actually saying was 'come join us, we need you'.”

“Ah. That's not bad, as starting points go.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“And you kept up your poker face throughout?”

“I think so. I mostly channelled your unique charm again. I think I hissed at the peacock at one point.”

“Sounds like me,” Crowley grinned. He got up and stretched. “I think I need to go have a lie-down. Shall we come up with a plan tomorrow?”

“All right.” Aziraphale stayed where he was. Crowley, having reached the door to the bedroom, turned around.

“You coming then?”

“I don't think I can sleep tonight.”

Crowley frowned at him for a moment, then shrugged. “All right.”

And he left Aziraphale sitting at the kitchen table, thinking increasingly morose thoughts.

* * *

As Crowley blinked his sleepy eyes open, three thoughts hit him in quick succession.

1\. God was currently a human and staying in Tadfield.

2\. Aziraphale had shown no interest in reengaging in the new physical side of their relationship.

3\. Aziraphale was going back to Heaven.

Crowley looked out the bedroom window. It looked like it was shaping up to be another beautiful spring day, but then that wasn't surprising considering the Antichrist still lived in, and loved, Tadfield. Fuck. They really would have to keep an eye out for Adam's activities. 

No. _He_ would, once he was the only immortal being left on earth.

_Shit shit shit shit shit._

There was a loud knock on the door.

“Fuck's sake,” Crowley muttered.

He heard Aziraphale open the main entrance, then –

“Hi,” he heard Adam say. “I'm not sure how, but I kind of knew I would find the two of you here?”

Crowley groaned and covered his head with his pillow. But even if the pillow somewhat drowned out the murmur of voices in the living-room, there was no ignoring the smells of cocoa and... croissants?

He sighed and got up, and after miracling some clothes on, went to check.

“Morning,” said Adam, looking more comfortable than he had any right to be as he lounged on their sofa and nursed a cup of cocoa.

“Hello,” said Aziraphale softly, his eyes lighting up as Crowley entered the room.

Crowley gave a non-committal grunt in reply and sat down.

“Coffee?” the angel asked.

“Might as well,” said Crowley, accepting the steaming cup of coffee that had already been waiting for him on the kitchen counter.

“So, you can tell me now,” said Adam.

“Patience,” Aziraphale admonished. “Let him wake up properly first.”

“Tell him what?” Crowley blew onto the hot liquid. It was mostly out of habit, not out of any sort of necessity. 

“Who She is. I said he had to wait till you got up,” Aziraphale said and handed him a plate with a croissant.

“I saw you tearing down the street away from Pepper's house yesterday,” Adam said. “I got the feeling you knew the woman.”

“Ah.” Crowley glared at him, hoping his eyes conveyed his displeasure at Adam so casually mentioning his terrified flight. (Not his finest hour.) “Hold on.” He turned to Aziraphale. “You want _me_ to tell him?”

Aziraphale cleared his throat, looking sheepish. “Is that all right? Only I worry that there might be repercussions if I say it out loud. You know, of the mystical sort.”

“What, you mean _they_ might hear?” He bit into his croissant and snorted. “And the fact that you clearly miracled these over from your favourite boulangerie in Aix-en-Provence is going to pass under their radar?”

Aziraphale tutted. “They already know I'm in Tadfield. Peacock, remember?”

“Ah yes. The peacock.” Crowley had to laugh again. Adam was watching them with uncomprehending amusement.

“Right. So if a demon says it they're not likely to hear. Makes sense, I guess. And we're telling him why, exactly?”

Aziraphale frowned. “I... forgive me, Adam, but I did wonder the same thing. But I think we must. He's been helping Her, and he might help Her further still.” He looked terribly conflicted then. “Unless you think we shouldn't. You know. Help Her.”

Crowley closed his eyes briefly. He remembered, very clearly, the judgment in Her eyes in that one moment when She'd said She remembered him. It had brought him back to before the Beginning of the Earth, and had been more than difficult to bear. 

For one moment, the nasty, vindictive side of him imagined leaving Her stranded on Earth. She'd have to learn _everything_ : English, doing the washing up, being nice to people... It would be hilarious.

And then he had a vision of a future with the archangel Gabriel in charge of Heaven.

He shuddered. “Nah. I don't think we have a choice, considering what the alternative is.”

Aziraphale smiled a huge smile of relief, and Crowley, ignoring the pang in his chest, turned to Adam.

“She's God.”

“She's _God_ ,” Adam repeated. For the first time since he'd met him, the kid actually deigned to sound a little less than cool.

“Made human,” Aziraphale supplied, apparently feeling that it was safe for him to talk now. “One of Her archangels... has sort of taken the reigns, and She doesn't have the power to go back.”

“It didn't know that was even possible.”

“Yeah. Neither did we.” Crowley snorted. “Neither did she, probably. Fat lot of good the whole omniscience thing did her that time.”

He heard Aziraphale tutting and gave him a half-apologetical shrug which meant to convey something like 'neither of us can help being who we are'. Aziraphale seemed to understand and nodded, giving him a small smile.

Fuck. That smile.

Adam, who (Crowley reminded himself) was a pre-teen and whose brain therefore had weird short circuits and priorities, said, “Pepper's mum said you managed to talk to her. So what language is that then?”

“Aramaic in the Galilean dialect,” Aziraphale supplied. “As spoken around the time that Jesus Christ was alive. I assume She remembers it because She paid more attention to the earthly goings-on at that point than She normally does?” This was directed at Crowley, who shrugged.

“Or maybe she still talks to him every now and then,” he suggested.

“In a human language? That would be odd,” Aziraphale hummed, and Crowley couldn't help but smile at the scholarly expression on his face, as though they didn't have more pressing worries at the moment.

Oh bollocks. How the hell was he supposed to go on without seeing that expression every day?

Ignoring this again, he said, “If we could get back to the more pressing issue of what the fuck we're supposed to do to help her.” 

Aziraphale winced. “Quite right.”

* * *

Adam, walking towards Anathema's house, couldn't for the life of him manage to feel more than happy excitement.

He knew the situation was bad, and he knew the demon and the angel worried about not managing to set things right. And he supposed he should worry about all the ways the world was going to change if they didn't. But he couldn't help feeling sort of thrilled walking through the streets of Tadfield, flanked by an angel and a demon, going to see _God_ and hopefully helping her defeat one of her evil archangels. It didn't get any more adventurous than that, did it?

“Stop it,” Crowley muttered.

“Stop what?” he said innocently.

“Stop radiating so much happiness. It makes me sick. This isn't going to be a picnic, you know.”

Aziraphale tutted. “He's a _boy_ , Crowley.” He shot Adam an apologetic look. “I mean, soon to be a young man, of course.”

“Nah, that's all right, I don't mind still being a boy,” Adam shrugged. “It'll change too fast anyway.”

“Very wise,” the angel said, but he looked worried.

“What do you reckon will happen to me?” Adam frowned. “I mean, I know we're supposed to think about, uh. Her. But suppose this all goes well and She goes back to Heaven and we all go on as we were. What do you reckon will happen to my, you know. Um. Special talents? When I grow up?”

The angel and the demon were both quiet for a long time.

“You reckon they'll grow stronger?” he asked when they had arrived at Anathema's house, and he was surprised to hear his own voice tremble a bit.

There was no reply as they both looked at him. Adam stared back.

“Hi,” Anathema said, opening the door. “What's going on?”

* * *

An angel, a demon, a witch and the Antichrist go to see God. Aziraphale was sure it would have made for a very good joke had the situation not been so serious.

“So what do we _do_?” he muttered to Crowley while they walked towards the girl's house, Adam filling Anathema in on everything he knew. Anathema kept darting them both interested glances over her shoulder. He wasn't quite sure whether she remembered them, but at any rate she seemed to just take everything in stride as it happened.

“I mean, it's all well and good having all this combined power,” he continued. “But what do we actually do with it?”

“Don't fuss, angel.” Crowley laid a hand on his shoulder, and Aziraphale found himself hooking an arm in the demon's as they walked on, craving to be closer still. Oh dear Lord. What was She going to _say_ once She realized the nature of their relationship?

“We'll work it out when we get there,” Crowley was saying calmly, although he didn't look impervious to their close proximity either. “The witch and I will do some sort of ritual to find the receptacle, and then we'll all... get it down here, or something.”

“You're very confident,” Aziraphale sighed.

“I always am when I'm with you,” said Crowley, in that half-mocking, half-fond tone Aziraphale never knew how to interpret.

At Pepper's house, Adam was quickly made in charge of fielding the family's questions (everyone loved him and believed everything he said, after all); and Aziraphale, of going to fetch Her. He let go of Crowley's arm with some reluctance, and there was an odd little moment as they both looked at each other.

“I...” Crowley began. Then he seemed to think better of whatever he'd been meaning to say. “Are you sure there are no other angels around?”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and reached out, making sure not to touch Crowley with his senses (the demon having complained once that Aziraphale's “angel detector” gave him an itch).

“There's no one. But I can sense Her up there. She's,” and he suddenly felt tears welling up in his eyes. “She's all alone.”

Crowley's mouth gave a little twist. “Better go up then.”

“Crowley, I...”

“Go on, angel. We'll talk later.”

Aziraphale gave him a long look. “All right.”

The Lord, his God, Creator of all things, was lying on the bed, nursing a hangover. 

But She smiled somewhat when she saw Aziraphale. “So this is what alcohol feels like,” She said.

“Not necessarily,” he said, sitting on the chair furthest away from Her. “High-quality spirits don't always produce the same effects. And they tend to taste better, too.”

She sat up, wincing. “You really have been down here for a long time, haven't you.”

“Yes, Lord.” He found himself mirroring Her wince. “If you will permit me...” He held out a hand, and She nodded.

Aziraphale was not one to indulge in Pride, but he did idly think that miracling away his Lord's headache wasn't something every angel could put on their resume.

“Better,” She breathed. “Now. Where is your companion?”

* * *

They had chosen a clearing in Adam's favourite part of the woods. They had all joined hands and Crowley was preparing to harness all their energies together. Again, he and Aziraphale had decided that for the purposes of non-detection, he should be the one doing it, although he could think of a hundred things he'd rather be doing with his free time, thank you very much.

(But, again, that vision of God Gabriel made him reconsider.)

“So who's the boy?” asked God.

“Do you mind?” Crowley snarled. “I'm trying to work here.”

“And I'm trying to understand who these people are who are willing to risk their lives to help me,” She shot back.

“Surely not risk their lives,” Aziraphale said hastily. (It looked to Crowley like he'd forgotten they were still speaking Aramaic and the other humans couldn't understand them.) “Crowley and I will make sure that they are unharmed. We will merely... ah... draw from their powers a little.”

“So they are not human,” She said.

“I'll tell her if you don't, angel,” Crowley said, opening his eyes. “There's no use attempting this anyway while she's still nattering on. Honestly, it's before-Creation all over again.”

Unless he was very much mistaken, She smiled a little at that.

(He remembered now. He _had_ used to amuse Her. Until, apparently, amusement had turned into resentment.)

“Go on then,” Aziraphale said in a small voice. “The trees...”

“... have ears. Yeah, fair enough.” Crowley sighed and turned to God, and if he smiled a little meanly, he couldn't very well be made accountable for it. “She's a witch who was tasked with stopping Armageddon and he's the Antichrist.”

God stared at him for a moment, then nodded briskly as though perfectly nice boys regularly turned out to be Her sworn enemies. “Yes. That explains it.”

They found the receptacle stored away in the core of the earth. Clever, Crowley thought as he probed downwards with his senses. No one would look down there, especially not the other angels, and Gabriel was cynical enough to expect them to rebel against him in turn. 

He was highly aware of Aziraphale putting his powers to use beside him. The angel was concentrating on keeping Adam and Anathema from taking that extra step into another plane of reality, keeping them firmly grounded on this Earth while simultaneously drawing, ever so gently, from their (especially Adam's) considerable powers, and letting those flow into Crowley. 

Crowley tried not to get distracted by how much Aziraphale was turning him on right now, and focussed instead on the distinctly Evil flavour of Adam's powers – how had the boy managed to remain so pure? It was a mystery for another day – while he dug a hole toward the centre of the Earth, first a metaphysical one, then a literal one, lower and lower and lower and –

Crowley gasped and collapsed. Aziraphale was by his side in an instant, grasping his hands, keeping him from falling face downwards onto the forest floor.

Crowley opened his eyes. All five of them were huddled together at the edge of a deep chasm in the middle of the forest. Anathema and Adam were doubled over, looking exhausted. God was sitting down, hugging Her knees and gazing at Crowley with an unreadable expression on Her face.

Crowley looked down the hole. There was an unearthly light gleaming at the very bottom of it.

“I can't get to it,” he said. “Our combined powers aren't enough.”

“I saw it,” Anathema whispered, and turned towards God. “I saw how he took it all away from you. I'm sorry.”

Crowley didn't know how, but somehow their spiritual union had shown them all what had passed between God and Gabriel, and had also taught God to understand English. She nodded at Anathema.

“I saw it too,” Adam said. “It was unfair what he did.” He frowned, and then added, “I think I can get to it.”

“Adam,” Aziraphale said warningly. He was still holding Crowley's hands in his own. Crowley was somewhat warmed by the thought that he didn't seem to care one bit what God thought about that. At least not at the moment.

“Adam,” Crowley echoed. “No offence, but what makes you think that you can get to it when I failed?”

“He was holding me back.” Adam jerked a head towards Aziraphale. “I can be more than that.”

“It might kill you,” Aziraphale said in a quiet voice.

“I think,” Adam said, standing up, “I'll be okay. It'll take all of my power out of me, but I'll be human, which is what I always wanted to be. I don't want any of this stuff. And I don't want to put people in danger again.”

“Adam,” said Anathema, but it didn't sound like Aziraphale's warning tone at all. It sounded like a proud aunt.

“You'll still tell me about all the witchy stuff, won't you?” he asked her, and she smiled.

“Of course.”

“Will you wait here for me?”

“I will.”

“I'm going to need you to give me a push in the right direction,” said Adam to Crowley, matter-of-factly, as though he harnessed occult and ethereal powers and jumped into the earth's core every other day. “And then you're going to have to let me go.”

“But –” Aziraphale began.

“Why are you doing this?” asked God, gazing up at him.

Adam shrugged. “You don't belong like this. It's wrong.”

And with that, he took Crowley's and Aziraphale's hands, drew enough power from them to orient himself, and jumped.

Anathema let out a shocked little gasp, but other than that, there was silence.

“The son of Lucifer,” said God, with no little wonder.

“The son of Mr and Mrs Young,” corrected Anathema.

* * *

In the end, it was much like Armageddon.

Not so much in that the forces of Heaven descended or those of Hell rose up, nor were there four horsemen or such like. There was just a boy who had been given incredible power on a silver platter – or in this case, in a shiny golden goblet – and whose choice was, once again, “No, thank you.”

It wasn't all easy or straightforward, of course. There was a tense moment when Adam rose up out of the pit, bearing the goblet, his hair streaming behind him, his eyes glowing an eerie red, and he looked for all the world as though he was about to take it all for himself. God's human form cowered before him as his feet finally touched the ground and he looked down on Her.

“There is so much power in here,” he said in a deep voice much unlike the pre-teen he had been only moments before. “How do you even contain it?”

God swallowed and looked up at him, sky-blue eyes meeting red.

“I've never known any different,” She said. “What I am right now... _that_ is terrifying.”

Adam stared down into the goblet. Its contents could not be seen, exactly, but his eyes reflected a golden swirl.

“Humans are so small,” he said.

There was a terrible silence. And then –

“Adam,” said Anathema. “Remember how you told me the other day about your plans for a sports competition here in the woods?”

Adam blinked and looked up at her. Then, his gaze traveled over the trees and bushes surrounding them, and as it did, his eyes slowly returned to their normal brown.

“Yeah,” he said. “It'll be fun.”

And he set the goblet down at God's feet.

Slowly, very slowly, She reached out and grasped the goblet by its handles. For a moment, Her eyes too reflected a golden swirl. Then she closed them, and it looked like she was breathing in the fumes of a particularly tasty hot drink.

Aziraphale surged forward at the same time that Crowley did. They each grabbed one of the humans and pulled them as far backwards as they could, shielding them behind their wings, just in time. There was a roaring sound and a mighty storm as all of God's power came rushing back into Her, and She screamed with it, a scream of pain or terror or elation, it was hard to tell.

Another blink of an eye, and She was gone.

Anathema peeked out from behind Crowley's wings. “Just like that,” she said.

Crowley rolled his eyes. Trust a human to cheapen the whole thing with inane comments.

Aziraphale made sure that the humans were all right and pronounced Adam “completely human”. Adam looked a little disoriented, complaining that he “couldn't feel them anymore”, but overall he didn't seem to regret what he had done. As he watched Adam and Anathema stride on ahead and disappear behind the tall trees, Crowley mused that in time, Adam's now entirely human mind would forget the bits that were too big for him to comprehend, and he would live a normal, boring life, and be happy.

Happiness, he thought as Aziraphale's hand slipped into his. Was it possible that despite all appearances to the contrary, he himself might actually have a shot at it?

There was another rushing sound behind them, and he groaned inwardly.

“AZIRAPHALE.”

They turned around.

She was radiant. Fire and starlight danced in Her eyes, the world's rivers swirled through Her Robe and the wind caressed Her moonlight hair. Crowley was surprised to feel a sudden surge of longing in his chest. Wasn't he supposed to shrink away from Her, hide away in the darkest corner of the forest from Her everlasting fury?

“My Lord,” said Aziraphale, bowing his head and letting go of Crowley's hand.

“COME WITH ME, AZIRAPHALE. I NEED YOU.”

Aziraphale looked up at Her, then at Crowley. There was so much pain in his eyes, Crowley was finding it difficult to hold his gaze. 

But if this was the last time that he would see his angel, he was going to savour every moment of it.

“I am just a Principality, my Lord,” Aziraphale said in a small voice, looking back at Her.

“MY ARCHANGELS HAVE DISAPPOINTED ME. PERHAPS IT IS TIME FOR A NEW GENERATION OF ANGELS BY MY SIDE.”

There was a long moment of silence as Aziraphale stared down at the forest floor, his jaw working furiously. Then –

“You are the Sun and the Moon and the Essence of all things, and I love You,” he said, looking Her clearly in the eye. “But my place is on Earth.”

And he took Crowley's hand once more.

God looked at them for a long time. Then She smiled.

“Anael and Aziraphale,” She said, sounding almost human again. “It's as though you were created for one another.”

There was a tense silence in which Aziraphale gripped Crowley's hand rather forcefully.

“Surely you're not going to take credit for that one as well,” said Crowley dryly.

She looked at him in surprise, and then She began to laugh.

“No. I suppose not.”

She took what looked like no more than a step forward, but She was suddenly very close to them. Crowley could feel Aziraphale trembling, or maybe he was trembling himself, it was hard to tell.

God raised Her hands and settled them on both of their heads. _A BLESSING FOR TWO OF MY MOST UNRULY CHILDREN_ , She said without moving Her lips. Then She smiled at them once more and was gone.

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley. His eyes were wet with tears, but Crowley's own eyes were so blurred that it was hard to make out.

“You all right?” Crowley asked, touching his cheek.

Aziraphale nodded. “You?”

Crowley breathed slowly in and out and closed his eyes, wiping away the tears. He could still feel Her hand on his head, warm as sunshine. He was pretty sure he would be feeling it for a long time.

“She called you...”

“Unruly,” Crowley said, well aware of the fact that that wasn't what Aziraphale meant. He shrugged. “She's called me worse.”

Aziraphale laughed and drew his head downwards to kiss him. “Your eyes,” he said as they broke apart.

“What about them?”

“They're...” Aziraphale shrugged, evidently no more articulate than Crowley at the moment, and simply pulled a hand mirror out of thin air.

Crowley looked. His eyes were round and brown, just like a human's, but there was a faint gold ring surrounding the irises. 

It wasn't half bad, as unsolicited makeovers went.

“She didn't make you –?”

“Nope, still demon,” Crowley said. “But I think She took the sting of it away a little.”

“You said She with a capital S there,” Aziraphale said proudly. “I heard it.”

“Did not.”

The angel laughed again. “Come on. Let's go back to the B&B. I can't face the trip back to London right now.”

“All right.” They walked through the forest hand in hand, listening only to the sounds of their feet on the grass and of the birds overhead.

“Why do you reckon he didn't take the power for himself?” Crowley asked after a while. “Gabriel. Why store it in the centre of the earth?”

Aziraphale hummed in thought. “It's probably too much even for an archangel to take in. I mean, he's a fucking wanker, but he's not an idiot.”

Crowley stopped and buried a hand in Aziraphale's hair. “You defied God to stay here with me,” he muttered against the angel's lips. He kissed him, messily, hungry, and added, “But I've got to admit that it turns me on even more when you swear.”

Aziraphale laughed into his mouth and nipped his lower lip. “Noted.”

“Say 'fuck' one more time and I might just transport us directly into the bedroom.”

Aziraphale drew back. “You know, I was sure you wouldn't want to do that anymore. After what happened last time.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Seriously.”

“I mean, I would have understood. Honestly. It was a huge revelation, and I'm assuming it wasn't – isn't – easy to deal with.” His eyes twinkled. “Then again, everything leading up to it...”

“Was absolutely mind-blowing,” Crowley agreed.

“Fucking incredible,” Aziraphale smiled.

“Right, that's it,” said Crowley, grabbed Aziraphale by the shoulders, and they fell through the air and landed roughly on the bed.

END


End file.
